A Madcap Run Through The Madhouse
by A Dwimor
Summary: Harry and Severus Snape are forced into a truce when their world goes to hell in a handbasket. Innocent bystanders beware. No slash.


_**I know I know, I'm a terrible person, I haven't updated my other stories and now I am writing a new one. This is actually a sort of reworking of The Prejudice of Ignorance, but I will be eventually updating that and my others too. **_

Harry stared blankly at the stone in front of him. The small nook in which he found himself was removed from the general hubbub of the castle, and cramped though it was, it was secret, safe, and he preferred it to common room. He'd discovered it around the beginning of the term, after Ron stopped talking to him and Hermione kept trying to aggressively parent him. Then most of the school turned against him - again - and he spent more and more time in his little eire. There was a tiny arrow loop that looked out over the lake, and it was just big enough for an owl, so that Hedwig could come and go.

She was currently on his shoulder, preening his messy hair. He hadn't called her to him, but she seemed to know when her wizard needed her.

Harry wondered if she knew her wizard was a murderer.

It was his fault Cedric was dead. His fault. No matter who gave the order. Despite his acceptance of this, he couldn't help a twinge of bitterness. Who the hell decided it was a good idea to stage a life threatening magical contest for children? Bloody Dumbledore. Bloody Ministry. Bloody Fecking Voldemort.

Why did he have to be the great "Boy Who Lived," eternal enemy of Lord Moldy Shorts? Hell, sometimes during the summer he couldn't help agreeing with the maniac's muggle policies.

Harry shook himself out of his mire of self pity, and turned his head to his owl, who gave a squawk of indignation that her preening was interrupted. _I wasn't done, wizard child. _

"Sorry Hedwig," Harry murmured, "We need to get ready to leave. It's almost time."

The boy moved to the corner opposite to a small box, which he opened, and began shoving the contents into his canvas school bag he'd brought with him. He'd progressively stolen a fair amount of less perishable food from the communal meals and had charmed it to stay good, and hid it in his lair. It was going to have to last for most of the summer.

...

Severus Snape materialized with a scream of wind in the middle of his study. He stumbled as he ripped off his Death Eater mask and threw himself towards the cupboard in which he kept his potions and alcohol. He rummaged through, downed a couple brews for pain, then blindly grabbed for a bottle. He glanced at it, sneered, and chugged the muggle whisky, emptying it, and tossed it aside where it broke against one of his many bookshelves. He hobbled to his shitty patched couch and eased himself down, hissing through his teeth. He curled into a ball, wrapped in his dark robes, and fell asleep.

...

He'd been back only three days. It had to be a record. Harry jimmied the lock on his cupboard door and eased it open. He slid out slowly, breath quiet but ragged, his head on a swivel. He was fairly certain Dursleys had gone to sleep about an hour ago, but if they _were _foxing he didn't want them to catch him. There was a reason he had been shoved in the cupboard he'd grown too large for. He didn't want to make it worse. Petunia didn't want blood on her precious floors.

Though Harry had made sure to get a bit on her precious sofa just to spite her when Vernon had thrown him across the room. It was the little things in life that brought one joy.

Harry sneered in the vague direction of the Dursley bedrooms and stumbled across the carpet to the locked cabinet where Petunia kept the wine and the sherry. . . and the rum, and the gin, and the scotch, which she didn't want her "friends" to find out about. How else could she look down on the people she gossiped about if she and her husband were known to imbibe similarly?

Harry picked this lock with similar speed, found the gin, chugged as much as he dared, then hobbled to the kitchen and diluted what was left to the height at which the bottle had previously been filled. Vernon didn't bloody need it, that was for certain.

...

Harry startled awake as a fist beat a tattoo on the cupboard door. His head twinged slightly in protest, and he sat up as much as he could in the small space, wrapping his arms around his knees, and waited for the door to be opened.

The light blinded him when the cupboard was finally unbarred, and Petunia's delightful face scowled at him.

"Vernon has a last minute work trip to the continent. We're leaving you with an old . . ." Petunia curled her lip, "childhood acquaintance of mine. Figg is gone for the summer and I don't know how to contact your kind."

Harry tried to avoid rolling his eyes. Probably were just afraid of their reaction to his current state. Secretly, he was a little glad he wouldn't be staying with any of his friends for the summer. Though his gut was shot through with panic at the thought of the unknown quantity that was Petunia's "childhood acquaintance," his little shred of pride was all he had, and he didn't want it soaked in the pity of his well meaning but oblivious friends when they saw his sorry state.

...

He'd been allowed two minutes - actually only one minute and twenty-five seconds if you wanted to be precise - to gather Hedwig, her things, and his own belongings. He'd managed to get everything she needed, his trunk, his wand, photo album, and a few shirts and underwear before he was collected by Vernon.

A nice new bruise discolored his arm from that encounter.

Fecking bastard.

...

Snape was woken by the pounding in his head, and the pounding in his head was aggravated by the light streaming through the godsdamned curtains. The pounding in his head was echoed by the pounding on the front door.

Snape groaned and heaved his carcass off the couch, wincing and clenching his teeth so as not to hark on the carpet.

He stumbled his way to the door and threw it open with an uncultured "WOT?!"

A sniff from stage right forced him to peel open his eyes.

"TUNEY?!"

The dark haired child behind Petunia Dursley jerked his head upright, to stare in amazement at his potions professor, sporting an unshaven and bruised face, hair no longer long, but instead spikey and unevenly shorn, framed in the doorway of a dilapidated house in a seedy neighborhood that just so happened to be incredibly muggle.

Green eyes met black, and both stared in shock.

Vernon Dursley curled his lip in disgust. Petunia sneered. "Severus, meet Harry Potter, Lily's son. We have a VERY important business trip and we can't take him with us."

Vernon shoved the boy forward, and he and his wife left the porch like it was on fire, with no further explanation, started up the car, and drove off.

Snape stared at the boy in front of him, who ventured a brief glare before returning to his previous vista that was the shredded doormat between them.

The older man slid down the doorframe and landed in a sitting position with a thud.

Snape couldn't help himself: "Well ffffu-"

...

Snape removed his head so fast from the fireplace Harry thought he might have burned himself.

The man stood and glared at his guest. Who glared back. The little bastard.

"Grimmauld Place. . ." Snape's voice seemed to be teetering on the edge of an exasperated and slightly unstable shriek as he spoke, "Grimmauld Place is compromised. Black. BLEW. IT. UP. Both Black. AND LUPIN, are currently in hiding from both the ministry and DEATH Eaters. The Weasleys are on. . . VACATION. . . AND HOGWARTS HAS BEEN INFILTRATED BY THE MINISTRY." Snape gasped a breath. "Oh yes, and our Lord and Master, The GREAT chess master himself, has fled a Ministry arrest WARRANT. The BASTARD!"

"Amen," Harry muttered.


End file.
